“There’s a fear of mine, of running out of words. Are our vocabularies so limited that this is even possible? Our feelings condensed in four letter monosyllables like it’s so easy. I say, if it’s a legitimate concern, let us vow not to run out of words at all. We’ll discover new ones nobody’s heard of, just for us, or make up our own so nobody realises that when we say “plikfana” we’re saying “my heart is yours”.
And for now we’re bound by language, but what about later? If I could transcribe entire tongues on your skin who’s to say we’d ever run out of words at all? All the ink would be my lips and fingertips, and the words would be goosebumps left behind, like alien Braille.
Hell, we could turn the words into music notes. Let the rhythms speak to us instead, bobbing little symbols on a vibrating throat giving away more secrets than we meant to give. All of that could be in the air, conducted by a skillful wrist until all the songs are about us in some way or another.
I’ll say “I love you” until it’s nothing but a half-asleep slur, but I’ll keep finding other ways to say it until we won’t need words at all. Books will fill with our vocabulary and in the future scholars will look back on our letters with awe and never know that all those symbols were measured heartbeats on paper.”